spring

Spring is here. With all it's festivities. India does not see much of this season. At the same time, this season is lovely.

Spring is when the trees flower, bathing the environment in vibrant hues. Golden yellow, pale pink, orange, red colour flowers, adoring trees. Brightening up the tarred road, with soft petals. Dead leaves on the ground, fallen after a year long stay on trees. Making way for young green leaves.

During spring, the road leading to my house from school used to be decorated with fragile pink flowers. The sanctity of which would be lost, with a single harried touch. Cubbon Park used to glow, with flowers, especially near the Public Library, the Vidhana Soudha ad the High Court. Many photos have been shot, owing their beauty to splendid flowers.

With cuckoos cooing, a suitable background music, for the riot of colours. It's amazing how we can mimic cuckoos, and the result is always favourable. Continuing the exercise of replying to each other, untill, i get tired of the pleasant game. Two or more cuckoos trying to outdo the other, all in the name of mating.

The whispers of dry leaves follow our footsteps.... new leaves adorn barren trees..... planting seedlings in ploughed soil..... celebrating harvest festivals ... the sun making it's presence felt... the weather becoming warm..... the sky- an enchanting blue, with fluffy-cottony clouds floating..... squirrels running past you... sparrows chirp to grab your attention et al, attempt to tell us that spring is here.

Spring is here indeed. I failed to notice it, but the cuckoo informed me this morning.

a ball game

The first play item that a child sights is a bat and a ball(my opinion). Or simply a ball. A child of about two years of age, before she/he realises that other games are approachable and likeable too. Probably, the fastness with which a ball travels enchants a child's mind. Perhaps, the easiness with which they can control it's movement gives them joy. For kids can be very adament. They'd like to think that they control the happenings around them. Being proud of it at the same time.

My neice payed us a visit last week. Realising that she was interested in this game, my father gave her two plastic balls. As for the bat, he came up with a commendable idea. She used a longish wooden spoon as the bat. Swung it in a fancy manner, sometimes brandishing the 'bat' in mid-air. Time for us to appreciate her 'batting' skills.

Balls, big, variously coloured, with goes inside, when a finger is pushed into it, smelling of chep plastic were regular merchandise at neighbouring shops. Many of those were gifted to kids, on account of their birthday. A small hard ball, again in different colours, comes with a bat. This particular combination also was a big hit. One reason which makes these balls favourites are the colours, tints, that these plastic balls adorn. Moreover, plastic, as it is cheap, durable and can be easlily manipulated into a assortment of shapes. Irrespective of the characteristic smell that these plastic items have, they are a huge hit.

Every kid in the neighbourhood attempts to master this game of 'bat and ball', more technically known as cricket. With young kids, asking for a second oppurtunity to bat. With utmost faith in themselves, they would again to bat. Well, i've had a few cherishable moments in this game too.

A group of boys, used to play cricket on my lane, with the usual squables. It provided relief on a boring sunday afternoon. Anothe factor which makes this game interesting is that, people play a game of 'bat and ball' anywhere and everywhere. Be it in a small room, on one's terrace, on the playground, on the streets, in the compound of a vacant stretch of land........

No wonder, this game appears to be liked by all. Personally, i've lost touch in the game myself. The cricket that is played professionally, various teams giving their best to the match, high stakes on each team.... it sounds dull to me.

It's time to give myself some practise. It'll be miserable if i fail in the game, when played aginst my neice.

wisps of fog

It was 8 in the morning and i started pacing about with a plate of upittu. Gosh! i was running late. What had happened to me? i faithfully presented myself at the kitchen for breakfast at sharp 7:45. Well, no i was five minutes late. The uppittu was really hot, and i had to remind mother to put shredded coconut and pickle into my lunch box. And above all that, i had to return two books to the college library. Realising that classes start at nine on Saturdays, i slowed down a little. Ate my breakfast in peace, slightly annoyed at the absence of the day's newspaper.

After having put the books in a plastic bag, and after having packed my lunch, i left my house. Turning back to look at my house, to see if C was standing in the verandah, i for a moment forget that she always left the house a little early on saturdays. She had left for school.

Walking on the mushy road, i had to skip a bit to avoid the dirty, muddy water. Holding proof to the borewell dug yesterday, the road showed huge amounts of viscous looking murky water of different shades. Flies, had already started accumulating near it. Shifting the weight of the plastic bag form one hand to the other, resting it for some time on my shoulder, i walked towards Hudson Circle.

I crossed Huson Circle in a leisurely manner, and reached the bus-stop. I'd made it right, on time. Once again, i told myself that college will start today. It was okay for me to miss a bus, the main reason behind me missing a bus, is that the bus never stops at my respective bus-stop, though the stop is listed in the schedule. Upon realising this, i usually dole out expletives.

Something caught my eye during the wait. I couldn't see the buildings beyond Hudson Circle, on the other side. Fog had accumulated, partially blinding the view. Pushing my spectacles up against the bridge of my nose, i focussed again. The presence of the fog was confirmed. Playing with the fog, i shifted my position, to overcome the effect that the fog created. Having realised that i walked in the middle of the fog, filled my heart with sheer joy. Once again, i saw the fog. My bus came, and i got into it. Thankfully i found a place to sit. I continued to stare outside the window. While the passing structures, trees, looked mysteriously clothed in fog. The weight on my hand, and on my shoulders melted into oblivion.

The Vidhana Soudha appeared, and the edifice looked beautiful with the fog attempting to hide it from public view. Made of grey-white stone with a soft-cottony white fog highlighted the grace of the mighty structure.

I reached college. Some friends and i started chatting. A came in, saying that she drove her bike at a high speed. Shivering in front of us, she started to warm herself. I said that the Hebbal lake looked awesome with dense fog above it. Fog wrapped the entire water surface, which was simply not visible.

Cold air blowing around me, with no warm clothing on, i realised that my cold(a successful one at that), received new impetus for it's continuation, in a surprisingly obliging host.

lalbagh- old and new recollections

Lalbagh is located at the centre of the town persay. I've known Lalbagh for more than a decade or so. Not too well perhaps. Visiting Lalbagh was a daily practise during childhood. Come vacation, and we used to go there. We used to 'walk' there for an hour or so, followed by breakfast at MTR. The ritual was followed so adamently that i took time to go back to the mundane school schedule.

Now, that i've reached college, Lalbagh has become distant with respect to time. I do visit the place occasionally, on the other hand, father visits the botanical garden everyday.

One reason which made us go there dutifully, was the promised breakfast at MTR. We went there, to savour hot idlis', sambar, masale doses, and kesari bath.

Though i don't remember much of the Lalbagh of my childhood, the trips made in the past few years have been memorable.

During school, M and i used to wake up at six in the morning, leave the house around 6:30 with father, and spend time at Lalbagh till around eight. It is easy as we stay in close proximity to the park, the journey taking about 10 minutes, or even less. Nowadays the time taken is more due the never-ending traffic snarls on Lalbagh Road. The Cedar Avenue, the Chinese-styled garden, the path leading to the tank bund, the tank bund, crossing the tank bund to reach the horticultural lands, made up our routine stretch. People feeding beaten rice to the fish.... crowds accumulating near the small bridge...... breaking our path here and there to observe a kingfisher or a stork, especially near the stagnant pond, provided some us some distraction.

Come, Republic day, or Independace day, the entire family used to visit Lalbagh, with some cousins tagging along. Colourful flowers of various kinds.... various cacti, some huge, some small.... the botanists who exhibited their plants... the hybrid seed companies... abnormal-looking brinjals, tomatos, chillies, pumpkins.... the outdoor decoration team... a small police post.... and of course some refreshment stalls decorated the place. We often bought seedlings, seeds, fertilizers from the stalls. On sighting a Nandini milk parlour, we would hasten our footsteps in that direction, to soothe our parched throats with cold flavoured milk, buying Mysore pak, groundnut chikkies at the same time. All in the name of a biannual flower show.

Various friends were introduced to us, whom father had befriended at Lalbagh. We, till date, recognise them as 'Lalbagh friends', a rather affectionate term. Many a time, litchies were bought, when the fruit was in season.

We grew up, reached college, priorities developed, and those visits diminished in number. I now pay visits to Lalbagh in the evenings. To sit on the seats made of concrete, to enjoy the last moments of a sun-set, to hear birds reaching their homes, to watch a squirrel run by, to watch ducks put their heads into the water attempting to catch a fish....

The place is given a new look, with new beautiful lamp-posts, various paths have been laid with clay tiles making the surface even. Moreover, The Glass House has been renovated to appear trendy. Granite seats have been established near the same. Music programmes are organised at the band-stand every Sunday, which attracts many people. Rose garden, the clock which has statues of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs looks good after some improved maintainence.

I heard that Lalbagh is getting spruced to look it's best for the Republic Day, which is around the corner. Need i say this, i'm waiting eagerly to visit Lalbagh which seems fantastic to one's eyes.

revering mother earth

Learning is an experience by itself. It can take place in a variety of ways. Some are more approachable while some are not. Approachable because we have made it so, picking and cultivating particular ways. These ways have progressed to such a large extent that we tend to forget the other methods. Irrespective of whether it is suitable to do so. Thus we falter in this race, being ignorant by practise. Nobody in particular can be blamed for this outcome. At the same time it is disheartening to note this fact.

I read 'The Infinity Of Grace' by O. V. Vijayan last week. The story is told in a meandering fashion. Introduction of a character, is followed by his/her history. The protagonist recollects his childhood a little too often. His father and him walking on the banks of the river, the father uttering words laden with philosophy which is difficult for the young one to comprehend.

During one of these walks, the father defines a guru to his son. A guru, from whom one learns knowledge. We learn a tiny amount of knowledge from time, the earth, an ant, a deer, a plant.....

Honestly, i was fascinated with this thought. Such profoundness encompassed in those few words. And all the while, we push the small tit-bits into nothingness, though we have gained something from it. Failing to acknowledge the loss, not even sparing it some thought, though the same is pointed to us a dozen times. What is more surprising is the fact that we group knowledge into categories which are separated by seemingly invisble boundaries. Forgetting that everything is interlinked.

When i speak of learning, i tend to follow it with acknowledgement. Acknowledging somebody should be an all-time duty of mine. For what they have done, however minisicule it may turn out to be. At school, Mrs. Bhadran continuously reminded us to thank all our teachers who taught us. Graduation day, and i did what she said. Happiness in those teachers' eyes, wishing me luck for the future.

An entity that deserves our whole-hearted gratefullness is mother earth. For all her creations, the life that surround us. For the beauty that envelopes us. Those much-trodden paths of hopefullness, sorrow, colours.... The pitter-patter of rains, the fragrant soil, the colourful butterflies, the tall eucalyptus, the helpless tiger cubs, the food i eat, the honey i drink, the blue sky, leaping gazelles, bunny rabbits, the majestic peacock, the chirping of the sparrows...... Revering Mother Earth.

Here's wishing everybody a happy Sankranti.

The favourite spot in my room, in the last month had been a rocking chair. Father had got it out of sheer interest about five years ago. He later decided that he didn't use it much and thus shifted it to an empty room, located upstairs.

Exams appeared, along with the rocking chair. He brought it down, so that it provide relief to my neck. A pain which developed due to the continuous strain of the muscles of the neck. And the best part is, that it worked.

Made of rosewood, the chair glints with a cherry-red tinge when sunlight falls on it. It does not have any work on it, but is big, heavy and roomy. Adjusting cushions in a variety of ways to provide my back the comfortable feeling. Turning this way and that, placing one cushion against an arm, another against the backrest, i've maneuvered lot, much to the chagrin of mother. She often complained that my room had shrunk, after the chair took a postion. True, the chair had to be moved frequently, in order to keep a wardrobe open. Mother and me have fought many a fight in this regard, with me winning most of the time, solely, because of my exams. I refused to budge from the chair. She used to threaten that the chair would be shifted after my exams were over.

It's not difficult for one to guess the present whereabouts of the chair. Yes, my room has lost it's precious. Not for a long time, i hope.

Sitting on the chair, i've watched the sky turn pale-orange, while the sun set, listened to music, read novels, or simply, swayed to the tunes of silence. Seated on the chair, facing an open window, i've enjoyed many sunrises, the rays filling my room with freshness and warmth... a flock of birds squeaking about in terror, when chased by an eagle.... coconut fronds dancing with the breeze.

I still can picture myself with a book in my hands, moving to and fro, pushing the cool floor, so as to keep the motions of the chair, constant through time and space.

magical words

English always has been a favourite of mine. The language, grammer, exceptions(there are many, as they say, each rule is always broken in English), literature, vocabulary..... Lately, i've been discovering the same in Kannada. Kannada in terms of it's literature, language and vocabulary. I have a special liking towards the pronunciation of words in both the languages. Go on, laugh if you must. As everybody has his/her fetish(/s), consider this a fetish of mine.

Rolling, forming an 'o', moving the tongue in and out of the mouth, the movements of the cheek muscles, the lips etc. helps make pronunciation possible. Standing in front of a mirror, watching the motion of a tongue let loose, the various fashions' in which the muscles moved was a past-time when i was small. Even today, i pronounce a word innumerable times, if i find it appealing.. Words like happy, fantasy bring a smile on my face. Thus, i strive to use different, related words.

School, i guess, made me build this peculiar habit. Teachers like Rozario, Vincent, whose english seemed impeccable. Sighting a new word, a new find, use it untill i get tired of it. The shadow of one letter on another, as in kshama, the hint of 'k' on 'sha', soukya, a little of 'k' on 'ya'- simply enchanting!

Biology also gets it's share. Though most of biological terms originate from european languages like italian, greek..... to hear such words, awesome! I often forget that this fact is not limited to biology alone, but extends through out the language of english. Biological terms- apoptosis, macrophages, diarrhoea, Simian.... pseudopodia, Paramoecium, Actinomycetes.... the list appears endless.

Going back in time reminds me of the days when father used to sit next to me, and teach me the ways of pronunciation, the tactics et al. Word by word, syllable by syllable. I still, mouth out words syallable-wise if i find a word difficult.

We learned a special word in school which is precious to me, the word being supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Debating on it's origin, whether it existed in real life, it's meaning...... took much time. A song from 'Mary Poppins', was taught to us, by Mr. Mitchell. The lyrics remains fresh in my mind, i think we were taught only one stanza. Here it goes,

Um diddle diddle diddle um diddle ay
Um diddle diddle diddle um diddle ay
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
Even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious
If you say it loud enough you'll always sound percocious
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
Um diddle diddle diddle um diddle ay
Um diddle diddle diddle um diddle ay

I found this site, which gives the entire lyrics, and also plays the song. The url:
http://www.niehs.nih.gov/kids/lyrics/supercal.htm

Enjoy!

As i pass by the Vidhana Soudha, i see plenty of people around, some of them tourists, some localites. It's interesting to hear, a grandfather introducing the structure to his grandson, a mother pointing out the prestigious building to her daughter..... The High Court which faces the Vidhana Soudha, recently recieved a fresh coat of paint. Brick red in colour, with people milling about the place, i always admire it. Gates are put up outside the High Court, enclosing some lawns as well. Black barricades prevents me from enjoying the beauty of both the structures. Gates are also placed at regular intervals in order to regulate the vehicular and the human traffic that moves in and out.

The barricades and the gates destroys the beauty of the majestic structures, to some extent. How i wish these were absent! Afterall, weren't these placed in order to protect the precious monuments. Anyways, the general public hardly worry about the place, that which is littered, people urinating, a plastic bottle lying here, a food packet lying there.

On second thoughts, one appreciates the presence of barricades, gates et al, which aims to curb practices which tend to disgust one. Civic sense on it's downslide.

a doctor, khan and common sense

Caution: By chance, if any of you belong to the Karan Johar Fan Club, i seriously advice you to skip this article.

Believe it or not, i saw the song 'Mitwa' of the movie Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna, for the first time last week. Friends had recommended the song to me saying that the song is good, to listen to, of course. I sat plonked on the sofa, changing channels with the wonderful gadget called the remote control. Staring into the tv, i always end up doing this. Nothing is captivating, except for the occasional movie, or, the ever fascinating world of animals.

Well, the song was aired on tv, and i sat, determined to view the whole of it.. Watching Khan and Mukherjee romancing, or trying to, in New York, without uttering an expletive, is considered a challenge by me.

After having watched the song, i switched the tv off, and went back to i don't what. I happened to view 'Silly Lalli' on one of the following days. (for the unintiated it's one of the popular comedy soaps, that is aired daily, with Doctor providing enough relief to a stressed soul). In that particular episode, something happened to Dr. Vittal Rao, which had him limping through out the soap.

I went back to 'Mitwa'. Apparently, the movie portrays Khan, as a person with a permanent limp. But, the song has Khan running around, dancing, in the same fashion as would a normal person do. Forget about Johar, does not King Khan posess a presence of mind, in maintaining the limp. Our very own Doctor can teach him a lesson or two in consistency, and in doling out watchable material. Never did the doctor miss out on his limp, not even for a flash of a second. A blatant error which runs into full houses. A bigger error is the movie itself.

If one is interested, one can read my attempt at script-writing, the Johar way. The link's here. (Though it's crap all the way!)